


Nothing but Stars Falling

by SouthernBird



Series: XZero Week [3]
Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM, M/M, Robotics, Sexual Roleplay, Smoking, Technology but With Sex, XZero Week, but they're androids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernBird/pseuds/SouthernBird
Summary: To conquer is a sinful morsel of dessert that satiates his desire, so conquer he will. The wait for the perfect target is arduous and grating, but the sensual baritones of an electric saxophone quell the simmering oil— he is patient. The prey will come.





	Nothing but Stars Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This is the epitome of my attempt to take a few of the prompts from XZero Week (Daily, Cyberspace, AU) and shove it into something really gritty. I hope it worked. Many thanks to The Kat Warrior for once again dealing with me.

The bar, sultry and lofty in ambiance and in scene, provides a sanctuary away from the turmoils and politics of the world outside its walls as though it it is tucked away in the recesses of pixelated cyberspace where only the worthy are permitted. 

 

For all the grievances that settle upon his shoulders in the daily nuances of his occupation, X comforts himself with the warm low light of a bar on the southern outskirts of the city, miles and miles away from the monolithic skyscrapers and towers of Abel City’s metropolitan epicenter. The glows of city life, still there in the sounds of zipping hover cars and buzzing crowds, are less hectic, less tense as he settles into something different while perched at the bar seat, nursing his first drink of the night. 

 

Here in the smoky bar while humming low tones fill the air, the casting shadows of his own burdens fall away, each piece of blue armor indicating his noble cause dropped unceremoniously behind him once he is beyond the threshold. No more is the mask of the Blue Bomber once the bar welcomes him, no more is the hero and the peacemaker standing proud with buster gun formed to win victories for justice for he can sit there and watch in pleasant awe. 

 

A sight to behold, X ponders, relishing the interactions of humans and reploids alike, all branded with their wristlets of preference when inquired at the door by the bouncers. His is a permanent entry, glowing soft azure on his wrist— how fitting— to indicate his status and his desires. 

 

_ Dominant // Receiver.  _

 

Despite the weeknight when the go-getters would be resting for their day ahead, the wayward bar is a-flutter with shushed tones and smoldering glances while reds and purples and greens of wristlets swimming in languid tendrils of cigarette smoke. X is grateful that there is at least one place that he can see all that he struggles for culminating in a place such as this, just sitting with chin in hand while groups and couples banter and dance about with their drinks in hand. With further inspection, X’s eyes catch pairs slipping off into the darker corridors to his left to indulge in the privacy of a room just for them.

 

Divested of his armaments and his recognition, the blue bot swerves in his seat to present himself to the main area, elbows placed behind on the bar counter while he scouts out a player for the night. He glances between lights, expression changing with each probable partner he assesses:  _ too small, too nervous, already paired off—.  _

 

Tragic as it is that at times he would want to be noticed, X still prefers the secrecy of his identity, able to win over a partner rather than just whisk them away with being  _ the  _ X that people laud and ramble about on news channels filling in their twenty-four-seven coverage. No, there is only pleasure in this hunt where he takes down larger prey with pretty eyes and pouty lips rather than at the end of the barrel of his buster. After all, a heaven of static is far more delightful than filling out reports with blood and oil stained hands. 

 

But, another thought for another time, and X crosses his knees as he scours further for something that piques his appetite. He is terribly picky, evident in the polite turn downs he gives to the numerous propositions he receives during his excursions to the bar. His size is hardly a threat, more adorable when pressed against the huskier frames of men whispering their hazy lusts on the tip of whiskey-soaked tongues, but the android bores with such over eager lapdogs. 

 

To conquer is a sinful morsel of dessert that satiates his desire, so conquer he will. The wait for the perfect target is arduous and grating, but the sensual baritones of an electric saxophone quell the simmering oil— he is patient. The prey will come. 

 

And come it does with a click of the entrance door to the far left, and a newcomer enters the bar fifteen minutes later with a demeanor of dignified confidence that forces green eyes to swerve right over for a good up and down. X’s knees tighten, press closer as he feels his sensors taking in the sight of an obviously not human that hits all the bullet points of his most wanted list. 

 

Tall, but not overly so, just enough to cover the blue bot if the scenario changed towards the more heated. Blonde, hair at his shoulders in a tousled look that holds reminiscent thoughts of a lion’s mane. Then, oh, then, blue eyes, cutting as deep as a knife slick with poison in all the best of ways, and X knows then that he  _ wants.  _

 

And, is it not victory of a white flag of surrender when those eyes meet his own and a visible tension seizes the breadth of those shoulder lines in an attempt of controlling the impulse to approach such a non-imposing figure such as X? Is it not a favorable instance when the man that Hunter has in his crosshairs steps over to the bar counter with a steadily assured gait to order an oil brew from the tap? 

 

With a seamless lick of his lips, his circuits are already simmering with the fantasies of silk ropes and leather collars that are locked away just beyond the perimeter of the main floor. Such a shame that these two in their dance of heated glances would be able to tear away such sinful lucuries with ease, the gears of joints and carbon fiber of muscle shredding away some of the strongest of bonds, but X has his own means and whims. After all, how can his servos not do a double time as his target watches hungrily from afar before the bartender, a young faced reploid in a sleek armor fashioned after a suit, is waved down to be given another order for a drink. 

 

X’s bar seat swivels as he turns around, now facing a wall of ambers and rubies corked away in liquor bottles in patient wait for their turn to inebriate the masses while a glass is smoothly placed before him, innocent yet enticing. 

 

“Got one on the house from an admirer down there,” and the bartender winks, his vocal box conveying a tone that drifts in implication of what could be entailed if X accepted. A fool’s bargain perhaps on someone other than him, but hunger should be a foreign concept as he lacks the ability to consume, but consume he does. 

 

So, he sips, slow, letting the spiked oil slosh over his tongue before slowly swallowing, eyes slipping a casting tease over to the giver of a gift. The red of the band on the man’s wrist just raises X’s haunches further, and he has to bite back a slight whimper. 

 

_ Submissive // Giver.  _

 

Another sip to cool down the impending warming of his systems, and his core flutter once his tongue tastes the drink so that the synapses fire towards his memory board and he can assess the flavors: sweet, but not overly so as it is more smooth and thicker than most cocktails. Even after just moments of their optic flirting, X’s preferences in drink have been struck hard, but he idly swirls the drink to feign off his rising urgency. 

 

It is the right move it seems as from the corner of his eye the man moves, picking up his drink casually as though he were going to chat with a friend from work about the woes of the grinding nine-to-five with all the intoxicating nightlife there at their fingertips to destress and to defrag the mind. A sip, two, near dainty with pucker of his lips along the rim of the glass, then X has company at his right side. 

 

“I hope you like the sweet drink— all I could think of getting when I saw someone sweet like you.” 

 

A talker, and not the best he’s heard, but rust X, gags work just fine if he find that words overcome the desire to rushed to the climax of the evening. Still, it isn’t polite to keep someone so kind with their wallet waiting, so X smiles as warm as bourbon, honey-hued and amber-melted. “Sweet like me? I really don’t know what you mean,  _ sir _ .” 

 

_ Ah,  _ what a reaction X gets, and his systems are already warming over at a higher CPU, kicking up the analyses as his processes take in the sight of the man’s bite along his lips, inhale the light musk of oil and solder of a fresh maintenance check, and lastly, hear the low grunt from a lower octave than X has previously heard. The android has to admit, by far, that his tastes are far more for the more scientific, a heady need to observe and to research rather than to decimate and to battle easily prominent in his more necessary processes. To watch opens up thoughts of the time after he acts, and how he should act accordingly. 

 

Should he pity the man here, grin sheepish and pass it off as a little tease with a sip of his free drink, or should he test the flames that are waltzing in a blue gaze that smolders him down to the chair? 

 

The latter sounds far more fun,  and ultimately declares victory as he pats the empty seat next to him. 

 

For his size and his air of what most would assume was a passing off of arrogance, this target of a fellow bot appears to have a problem gaining his gears and setting them back into proper order. However, it is done when a sure as hell grin tugs at his mouth, and X has company at the seat he has offered. 

 

“You must have a high CPU if you can throw wits like that,” comes in a smooth chuckle, a sound that does nothing to wash reprieve through X’s circuits. It prompts him to turn in full to his catch, idly resting his chin on the back of his hand. 

 

“You think so?” X inquires, trying to mimic that ever-growing smirk on the other’s handsome face when his own artificial facial muscles just were not meant to look any more than demure, “I thought I was just sweet.” 

 

Strangely, there are eyes on him though nothing more is mentioned of sweetness or not, yet what is already budding between them will surely end in the throes of desperate pants to cool overheating circuits while hands grab in possessive slides along inhuman sinew and sculpted curves. X decides to press, delicately inclining his head further in a curious tilt. “I don’t suppose you have a name? I want to know who I’m thanking for the drink.” 

 

Bright eyes, taking X into their own crosshairs as he assesses the other further, shift just enough for the blue bot to notice that his probable partner has pupils that contract and constrict— and a chuckle draws him away from noting anything else worthy in his observations. 

 

“For the sake of your protocol, I’ll just give you a name of my choosing. Will that suffice?” 

 

A hum, teasing like feathers along skin, “not much for social graces?” 

 

“Hardly— but the directive I will give is ‘Lion.’” 

 

A false label is nice, adding a layer of mystery as though an imaginary mask lined with gold lace along crimson lacquer hides that enigma away from his hunger to know what lay beneath. Oh, and how hungry he already is, famished from just the nuances already, but X could so horribly mess this up, has learned since his earlier days that finessing a man into bed is more a sensual art form lacking the components of simple robotic conundrums. 

 

It’s fun— nothing more than  _ fun  _ as X works, as masters of their arts do, to practice until he is an expert. 

 

“Then, mine is ‘Bluejay,’” for he hopes the name drop is enough to discern as to his intentions, just as Lion is for the blond that keeps the world at bay while they occupy their little space at bar counter. A lion is proud, mane a symbol of his pride and his prowess that roars to command the attention of those who hear the tremors of power. 

 

But, a bluejay, with its crown of feathers, slowly flies around its prey until there is a sense of ‘attack,’ forming its vibrant feathers into a show of something either to fear or to desire. 

 

The chitchat after such epiphanies is small and light, even dainty as the two patter back and forth with flirts and lazy comments. However, every moment just stokes the embers, the way blue eyes glance down when X presses his thighs together, the way a tongue licks along lips as though there is a sense of jealousy, and lastly, the way that Lion takes his hand to kiss at the knuckles before leaning in to murmur low and hot along his aural receptor. 

 

“Are you going to keep me impatient all night, or are we going to take this elsewhere?” 

 

Hook, line, and the boat is sinking, no, sunk, the hands of sirens raking their claws along the boards that kept a man afloat and away from X’s snatches; how trivial that the game ends there, but after hitting every note with decadence, how can this be denied? 

 

It goes relatively quick then, a blur of dark hues and hazy tints passing dreamily as X takes the man’s hand with sweet, verdant eyes that promise something far better than whatever can be found at the end of a whiskey glass. After that, its core beat pulsing in rapid succession, doors passing by them until mercy grants X the sight of the room he has rented for the night, pressing in the code before the door hisses open too slow for his liking. 

 

Then, there is yet a synapse of a thought to yield progression as the moment that the door clicks shut with a light beep indicating that no one else will get in, the Hunter finds his spine against the  door while seeking palms cup at his hips to press him close. Breath like fire whispers along the seam of his lips, and the beast broods ever closer in for the kill. 

 

“You are a fucking  _ tease. _ ” 

 

And physical connection wins out over what small talk could be lingering in the open void between them, lips on his to suffocate any retort to the kisses that bite and lick deep. Truly, no, there would hardly be a resonating denial, not after he nearly topples off his foundation when a tongue slips between his parted lips, stealing the hot oxygen that filters through his mundane vents. 

 

It’s hot— there is yet a word that his memory banks provides that suffice far greater— but that’s just fine as smoke is a friend and his mind falls ever into a lustrous fog that just beats in sporadically rising rhythm of more, _ need more.  _

 

Yet, swimming sounds far more precise, limbs floundering in steam as hands slide down his hips to grip under his thighs, easily picking X up to leave less room between their bodies that are more apt to grind than to proceed into anything far grander. Sharp hips slot between handled thighs, and the Hunter perhaps loses more of himself in spite of the confidence he had just ten minutes prior when teeth nip down from his open mouth to his neck. 

 

Teeth find a sensitive ‘vein,’ tug and nip in a provocation that has a ragged groan crackling from his vocal box. Enough is enough. 

 

“Bed,” X demands, dragging his fingertips up from Lion’s broad shoulders to grip his mane to tug his head back and reveal his place; to stand above other, to fly higher than all else, X is the dominant here, even in the wake of a roiling beast that is far larger and more aggressive. That is the part that makes control all the more salacious because those blue eyes sharpen, pupils constricting in a show of near defiance, but X barely trembles at the low growl emanating from a working core, “you heard me; I said  _ bed.”  _

 

The lion smirks, huffing as he relents his conquest at seeing if his teeth could leave marks on X’s neck long enough to walk them over to the bed pushed against the high wall, “as you command.” 

 

For sense of purpose, the bed is a bed, a sturdy one at the build for even animaloids to partake in when the going gets quite rough during scenes and couplings. With the mattress at his back, X ponders why it is not a tad bit softer to match his own tastes tonight, but those distracted thoughts flee away in the wake of another growl paired with more kisses that seek to extract the very intelligence out of X. 

 

It is fumbling after, civilian clothes attempted to be discarded with intents to see more, touch more, X’s more lithe build exposed while his partner’s own anatomy is that too much of an android. There is a strange softness in along the blue bot’s body, perfect for gripping or even better for worshipping. However, green eyes are taking in the gears and framework covered in a thin layer of gray synthetic skin. 

 

X barely notices that Lion is watching him as well, nearly slack jawed as though his compressors had lost all of their pressurized air when the last vestiges of their attire is thrown to the floor. 

 

“… Do you have a certain priority to your build?” X asks in wonder, a hand coming to trail at the meticulous webbing of copper wiring at the blond’s chest, “you’re… fascinating if you’re a standard issue.” 

 

A snort, dry and self-demeaning, rattles him from his thoughts as Lion leans in closer, “you are taking too much time asking personal inquiries.” 

 

Ah. Sensitive subject. All right. X rights himself, gazing upwards towards a blue gaze in the hopes to smoothing over the frayed edges he has created in a matter of milliseconds. 

 

“It doesn’t make you any less handsome or… purposeful,” and there is a shock that lessens the abrupt tension enough that X is able to gain footing from where he lays, sliding his legs until his knees catch along the bed and he gently pushes Lion back.    
  
The motion will not go without question, an eyebrow raising at the slow shift of their positions, “and your small frame conceals control and power. If we are attempting to reveal our identities then what is your capacity?”

 

_ Infinite,  _ but X will not relay that vital piece of his true self, just smiling instead as he takes up his turn then, kissing at a thick corded neck while his palms slide down tense biceps to take the other’s wrists into his grip. 

 

“It’s whatever you’d like it to be… or, maybe it’s more what I want it to be for your betterment,” X nearly coos, his tone dipped in saccharine so velvet that Lion shudders beneath him, resolve to take back the reigns crumbling entirely when a smile comes to fruition, “I want to take care of you, but only if you consent.” 

 

If it weren’t for the tone of the chuckle, X might would be slightly concerned he read all the signals wrong, but it’s hardy, warmed over with something personable that seems satisfied by endnote. Lion’s eyes open, fixate on him, and X feels as though he is the one pinned, that he is helpless rather than being the First of many and the greatest creation to bind together the outreached hands of androids and humans. Strangely, the gaze makes him feel just as himself, desired for what he is then and there as opposed to the justice he wields when the sun is high. 

 

It’s invigorating, something a tad variant of his previous escapades in the dark corners of bedrooms where he held whips and screwdrivers, and it makes all the fantasies melt into cosmos of the unobtainable idea of romance. 

 

“As if you need to ask for it, but it is given,” the blond grins with a tinge of that near oppressive arrogance before tilting up just enough to test X’s grip on his wrists, “freely.” 

 

Nuts and bolts and other odds and ends, he might just overheat right then because this must truly be what it feels to be compromised. “I want a safe word. A-and a signal in the case that you cannot voice your need to stop or to yield.” 

 

“Saber,” comes smoothly in a purr, hips already grinding up to press between supple thighs, “and don’t worry about a signal— I will not allow you to do anything I do not want.” 

 

A sigh of relief, and X only leaves his spot on top of the other to go to a small, minimalistic dresser at the side of the bed to pull out cuffs that would wind perfectly through the ornate design of the headboard yet also provide some challenge. Should he also provide a blindfold, a gag, hinder a sense of ability in the hope that it may elevate the sensations he hopes to drag along his submissive’s nerves? 

 

“But,” and the syllable is a welcome beat, a strum of a flat instance that alleviates the worries X may soon start to tumble through if given enough time to rally his anxious thoughts together when they come scratching at his back, “no impeding my oral systems. I would prefer to talk.” 

 

Blindfold it is then. Oh, and some cuffs made of something durable that not even most reploids could break even with their effort. The links of the cuffs rattle just right when he lifts them into view once he has returned back to the bed, watching pupils dilate at the sight of what will soon bond wrists to a bed dangling off a crooked finger. 

 

“Then, I’ll be limiting your ability to be tactile along with your optics. Do you disapprove?” 

 

A half a second beat that almost drops a hint of hesitation, but Lion shakes his head, shoulders rolling against the sheets in anticipation of proceeding. “Negative. I consent.” 

 

_ Consent _ . X shivers, biting his lip as stars fall into the pit of his torso and his knees find a home by straddling the other’s hips. It is a gentle click that hitches at servos once the cuffs are secured around limp wrists and another sweeping tie of black around those sky eyes, then the nighttime dominant can sit back to admire the masterpiece splayed beneath him. Perhaps he should admit that this is a little too light for his personal tastes, but instead of jumping in feet first he would rather wallow in something as there is a tugging of attraction for something more nipping along the nape of his neck.

 

He will leave traitorous facet of his romantic side to drape along the floor along with his clothes, taking his time to undress even though there are no eyes to admire the sight of bare synthetic skin and joints. It is, however, satisfying to no end how the prolonged act of undressing cause Lion to tense beneath him, how artificial muscle seizes from movement that he cannot assess with his own visual sensors. It adds to the fun, brings a little mirthful smirk to the Hunter’s lips as he gazes down for a moment. He should give the man some credit and something to gift him for being so good, so with a bend at his hips, X leans until his hands cradle a strong jaw between his hold. 

 

“What are you thinking?” Murmurs soft and sweet from his lips, breath warm and steady like a wind pressing along sunset sands against the seam of a stuttering mouth. Sensuality is now relative now, senses hindered granting the lead the authority to build or to decimate whatever imagery and feel he wants. “You have a voice, let me hear.” 

 

“I think you are baiting me into something,” answers him gruffly, but the swallow down of something more perks X’s interests as that act is so human, so instinctual that he is taken aback that the other even performs it, “and taking too damn long to use that pretty mouth of yours.” 

 

Teeth press along a jawline, false incisors biting lightly in a show of retaliation and possible punishment for such talk. Lion tenses, vents hitching when X’s teeth scrape until their lips brush again, fingers caressing along a shoulder inward until they splay across his neck. “That is a command, I think, but you are hardly in control here.” 

 

‘ _ Who is?’ _ A biting, slithering thing saunters through his mind with gossamer thighs and silk singsong,  ‘ _ Who rules you? Who owns you? Who takes your heart? Me. Me. All me.’  _

 

Defiance breaks and then pride folds, giving X his due right when the man wrapped in his intricate spider web groans out in acceptance of his fate, eager to be poisoned to the quick and gobbled right up. It strikes a match, burns rough like kerosene, and it all falls apart sublimely. 

 

Coherency spirals down a vast cipher of hips grinds and frantic kisses, but a withstanding fact that promenades amongst their bites and their shared breaths is how abhorrently bare X is, and his partner is still half clothed. Minutes bleed out, but X’s hands soon find purchase, fingers twitching as he tries to relieve Lion of his too-simple-yet-too-complicated pants. Diligence is a cup brimming with golden ambrosia, and X sips and sips and tugs and tugs until he breaks away from fucking a pliant mouth with his tongue when the tips of his fingers touch along a shaft of a cock that is hard between his thighs. 

 

No, he needs to see, needs to lean back, to lick his lips while he admires something that is downright damnably delicious to look upon so he can thank himself for being so taken so easily by the charms of a stranger that is now coming apart under his touches. 

 

The cock curves up at a angle so perfect, ribbed shaft thick and long as though molded impeccably with X’s preferences in mind he almost wonders if this was plucked from his mind in some twisted desire to appease him. Appeased he is, green eyes roving up and down in stiff anticipation while Lion grunts beneath him, pressing his hips into X’s loose fist. 

 

“I think it is fair to say that you are either disappointed or you are in shock— I think I prefer to believe that latter.” 

 

Cheeky, and it earns a swat on the side of the blond’s thigh as a sense of warning. He had not asked about tactile pressure or force in any sense, and before he acts again he will need to address the rules as are his duty, but Lion merely huffs as though to bristle at brief punishment before lazing completely on the bed.

 

“You cannot hurt me into being quiet, but I have a suspicion that you are far from wanting that,” drolls Lion as he shifts to settle entirely in as though this room were theirs and theirs alone, as though another couple will not saunter in for a few stolen moments together before reaching their parting ways. It makes X stop, truly consider what he wants while rolling the desires between his palms like marbles swirling with azure and with garnet. He wants the man to stay, to bask in an afterglow that may would be repeated perhaps a time or two, but he also is afraid of the commitment that lies in wait at the door, fangs bared and claws at the ready to ensnare his heart into folly. 

 

“Bluejay.” 

 

The scene unfolds back, sweeping away the anxieties of ‘could bes’ and ‘would not bes,’ so X melts back towards the body below to kiss away any worries of his composure. He appreciates it, this return to their coupling, even if it still veils away the issues that will arise when they are in the aftermath. “You’re right— I apologize.” 

 

“You can apologize only if you are unable to sate both of our needs,” Lion jokes, that accused smirk tugging up at the right corner to tempt X into another round of vicious kisses, “but I will relent from questioning your tact.” 

 

If Lion has the audacity to speak again, he does not do so, not that the blue bot would allow anyway as he keeps their mouths busy, worrying over that bottom lip with his teeth while his hands stroke that glorious cock. His motions are reverent, slow, teasing to the point where he can calculates sensitivities and tuck them away into a mental chest of secrets only he possesses the key to. From time to time during their sloppy make out, X can hear the light shift of chainlink hit the headboard of the bed as though the might of the bonds are being tested, but he pays no mind otherwise. 

 

He is, undeniably, in control. 

 

And yet, he is further from the truth, a moment of tungsten of an archaic light bulb humming in his mind when his mouth is half full of cock, tongue wrapped around the rigid bumps of the shaft while suck on the tip. X is  _ starving,  _ near mad with it, desperate, muffled mewls escaping him as the other grunts low and defying, spine curved up to give X more, lips parted to gruffly beg X for more. 

 

Hungry like that spider tiptoeing down on spindly legs to her prey, X breaks and wants race across the valleys to the hilltops without rational thought deterring him. 

 

It hardly takes long especially when there is not one ounce of fussing or refusal from Lion, but even when X knows what he wants, he takes his time— or, rather, he puts in a good effort— pressing the cock against his folds to brush along each bump and each raise that makes the shaft. His hips move along in languid rubs, knees dug into the mattress while his fingertips trace constellations along gray skin that folds over inorganic assemblies. 

 

“I am going to take you,” X murmurs in resonant proclamation, yet the tone is a key off from the lust that has corroded his sensibilities and made him a sultry thing hellbent on all matters of the ‘flesh.’ The retort to his claim comes in a growl that rips into his wiring and might just leave him in tatters. 

 

“I think it is imperative you hurry up, though I admit that impairing my vision is a damn misfortune.” 

 

How grateful X is for that damn misfortune of a blindfold that covers eyes he would be joyfully bask in the gaze of as he is about to break so soon. Damn him and that infinite potential for what is the use of it if the variable that utterly undoes him lays between his thighs?

 

“Why is it such a misfortune?” 

 

He must sound incredulous, vocals quivering just so to make a shift of roles. He has never been so worrisome since the beginning, yet he sounds just a step on the side of anxious. 

 

“... Is it so hard to believe that you would be a sight I would find appealing to see?” 

 

Ah. This man is too observant. 

 

X wavers, but smiles tender as he crawls down over Lion's torso (and rust him in the junkyard with the other scrap because whomever built this android Adonis sculpted a body worthy of Olympus’ gold garlands) to kiss so gently that it almost weaves a facade of lace-tender lovemaking, glittering a simpering sunshine within the course of their veins. 

 

“I think it is.”

 

“Then you must be as blind as I am currently.” 

 

It touches his heart that moment when he should feel more empowered, but rather is feeling on that edge of bashful swooning. Were the man below him capable, X is certain that he would eagerly be caught in an embrace that perhaps the blue bot would refuse to tear away from. The introspection derives a feeling of wonderment of the realities that could piece together were they to allow it, but then is not the time to be distracted. All that should be done is taking what is given, blow minds, make his partner pray out loud for the zenith they would undoubtedly reach together. 

 

“No more words,” comes a rough command he barely registers is his own voice as he hands glide slow down his own thighs, taking the other’s need into his hold while his hips cant upward, “your everything is mine now.” 

 

And when their breaths hitch in unison, when their bodies sync as X aligns himself to sink down over his partner for the night, tears prick at his eyes from the sheer depth of what his synapses attempt to comprehend. He knows there is a thickness filling him, spreading him entirely as he inches lower, lower more, girth nestling inside of his dripping need. He also becomes aware of how his joints seem near collapse, aptitude of his body’s abilities decreasing as he settles onto one singular motion. 

 

He is whole, their two synthetic fleshs now one, and for a moment, X can fully appreciate the encompassing jubilance of just being  _ alive.  _

 

Underneath, Lion lays shockingly still, breath short and stilted when he dares to raise his pelvis further into the body that takes him as though the little authority his body rebels for pushes against the small of his back to seek more heat. It makes a  coo wilt its way into the charged air of the bedroom, a beginning note of a hymn only found amongst the wraps of sheets and legs, and X kisses his jaw. 

 

“Stay still… I want a clean ride.”

 

The pace is tortuous from the initial slide up the shaft, the endearingly called Bluejay fading into a veil of electric charges coursing up his spine to sway him into a rhythm that evokes their darker lusts. Every heady sound, every decadent inch of skin that meets, everything culminates into a simmering friction that just pleads into the air for a finality they are both truly reluctant to strive for. 

 

Soon, any attempt at a pace meant to prolong their affair scatters into pieces as X finds himself overheating, internal temperature ticking up further and further into dangerous levels. He chances a molten green glance down at Lion, and whatever deity that might would listen to something of the non-organic deserves his praise for offering such a gift, deserves any sacrifice and any reverence for the blessing that acts so good for him.  

 

Another jut of their hips, and X’s head tips back at the sudden sharpness that bolts up his back while he loses evermore the grip on his control, relishing how much it would mean to just become abyss, writhing and moaning at the whim of the rise and drop of his body in some contrived purchase of having that moment of finality engulf him. 

 

The warning signals start to collide with his intents, and it is just another moment after that the pace quickens into something far less agile and beautiful, catalyzing into sex far grittier and more carnal.

 

It is hot, no hotter,  _ no _ , it is hottest that X has ever felt as cries out of sync with the warning signals that beep in succession as every core system threatens shut down over the fire that quakes through his body. He wants more, wants that void that comes with completion while squeezing around the cock he rides sporadic and emphatic. 

 

Near incoherent, X’s gaze falls down to the man he holds down with only an idea of power and the bond of cuffs, his thoughts eradicating his control further. He wonders; how gorgeous are those eyes behind that scrap of silk, all swirling sky blues that thrums with control lost? How fascinating would be to take away the blindfold, let himself be the only thing that matters, the only point of reality as the world no longer exists beyond their intertwined limbs and desperate sex? 

 

“Eh…s…” 

 

Just a breathless syllable forces X’s thoughts to crash to a halt when the blond surges up, bucking deeper into wet velvet heat that seems to be as intoxicating as it also seems to invite more of the shaft inside. 

 

“Fuck… Eh… khss…!” 

 

“N- _ no _ ,” please, not now, do not break the imagery, this little facet of time he takes for himself and just himself, and help him— he isn’t strong enough to deal with the finite cracks spindling their glassy waltzes along his soul, “not yet… please, not yet…!” 

 

His hands barely fumble to press over the blond’s mouth, X nearly forgetting himself as he fights his more rational senses as the warnings soon combat with the logic of horror that he is about to break the rules laid out plainly prior. Just a little longer, and he can finally unfurl into being what he was built to be, loathe he is to be it, but if it would mean just thieving away and just having this with—. 

 

But, that impulse drives away with another groan that goes right between his legs, and a laugh brushes away all those worrisome whys and why nots to align bodies and cores once more. 

 

“Finish it; my vents are working… at an elevated rate keeping up with you,  _ Bluejay. _ ” 

 

Bless his partner. God, how he loves him, but that isn’t for here, but rather for the afterglow, and X rides hard and fast, mewls and pants and begs all culminating into a glorious bedroom hymn, stardust glowing across his circuits warm rose and pulsing crimson. 

 

Then, right on that cusp, right on the grasp of climax, he forgets himself, lets the mirage fade from a bluejay and a lion into the more sensual and more loving. With his hips raggedly lifting and dropping, X becomes an existence twisting in the waves of pleasure while the man below that thrusts up to meet him, the same man that cleanly snaps the bonds that kept his wrists tied to the headboard so his hands can run reverence up X’s thighs melts into his lover, shifting back into a hot-blooded war machine that turns too soft during sex. 

 

Body arched taut, X’s hands fall back onto the other’s thighs in some effort to deter collapsing as shut down windows thrust their presence to the forefront of his vision, green eyes fading into static as he screams a name that he shouldn’t, but he is a hopeless thing bent at the will of desires that are too tumultuous to stand in opposition to.  

 

It hits, pixilated orgasm popping behind his optic flares in resplendent fireworks, all rainbow code that reconfigures and defrags in sparked repetition until his joints give way and starfall shimmers between his data streams, extracting zeroes and ones in refulgent waterfalls before abruptly crashing it all into striations of tints that X did not know existed. 

 

From the pressure of stardust storms and data implosion, he flat lines screens, all monochrome static as he can barely tremble before temporarily shutting down. 

 

Quiet ekes into his limbs and into his responses before something touches his cheek as though he truly were a bluebird caught helpless in its nest, quiescent in the wake of a beast that might devour him whole.  

 

“X. Respond.”

 

X does respond, but it is a glitched groan that emits reluctantly from his throat as he huddles closer to his partner. In a sense, he is thrumming, circuits overworked to a point near in need of medical attention, but so perfectly resound that even his nanties might be hindered in their self-repair duties. In another, he is mortified, mind hesitatingly still as marble crack align with his fears that he nearly held a hand at his partner’s-- his lover’s--. 

 

“I’m sorry,” and he truly is, weepingly so as his fingers touch along the chest that he is being held close to as though it would be some motion of his apologies where his words falter in precise significance, “I almost lost it.” 

 

The arcane lion that once prowled hours prior to their coupling, the same beast that intrigued and that motivated, wanes into the nightfall only to arise as the fierce war android X is so immensely familiar with. However, the calculative observation of his gaze is oddly subdued until a smile so brilliant adorns his face and X’s core over beats its steadying pace. 

 

Being in love is singularly the worst curse, yet fondest gift. 

 

“Almost, but I was the one who broke first,” Zero purrs along X’s hair, hefting himself away momentarily to lean over the bed to gather his pants that were only worn for the sake of painting the almost ethereal scape of their scene. While idly watching the blond search the pockets, X appreciates the civilian attire if just only to forge that they are not themselves but guises of a life they might have away from their objectives, a life that they might could smear together with patchwork fragments of a peace that X could bear with. 

 

However, X understands he is infinitesimally hopeful and disparagingly hopeless, so they remain with their grasping of wayward strings that they pluck from the starless sky. 

 

“You don’t usually break, actually… what happened?” X inquires with every ounce of curiosity his possesses as Zero returns to their afterglow with a heavy flop, an arm wrapping around the smaller bot’s shoulders after the click of a nitrogen cig flicks to life. There is a sharp inhale, then lofty exhale, smoke furling up to slink skyward while verdant optics regard his lover intensely. 

 

“I guess I will repeat myself,” chuckles out between drags of the cigarette, and X is then under a scrutinizing, yet mirthful glance of blues that are endlessly perfect and practically deadly, “forcing me to be unable to see you was a horrible idea on your part, and I became impatient.” 

 

Shoulders slump, and X knows his bottom lip has pressed out in a pout when Zero laughs so freely that it makes his internal systems pitter patter restlessly. Retaliation would be a preference, but instead of using his vocals in some defensive measure, X just reaches up, plucking the cigarette out of his lover’s fingers to lazily take in a drag only to expire the smoke with an alluring tilt of his neck. 

 

He sees the eyes dare to stare in longing finesse at his throat, sees how his coquettish maneuver to infringe on Zero’s habit of smoking after sex has a positive effect. X takes the reaction, keeps it close, a memento to repeat in succession on the lonelier nights when their routines do not sync and he is left alone in their shared quarters with circuits alight. 

 

For now though, X slips back down to kiss at Zero’s shoulder, nestling his head right in the crook of a ball joint while fingers pet through his hair. Time mercifully slows down, permitting war-scarred lovers to simply bask in a little niche found in heartache, togetherness a slumbering  like moonbathing serpent that curls between their souls. As the night lingers towards a gray dawn, sleep soon slithers in to quell their processes towards hibernation, nothing but stars falling like wistful wishes while the world outside runs on. 


End file.
